Mirrors
by Wholocked221
Summary: Dean wipes off mirrors. It has become habit, wherever he is- Sam's hospital room, the bunker, various motels. He always finds himself wiping the steam and dust and grime off of mirrors. He kids himself why he does it, because he knows why he really does. He does it because he expects to see Cas standing behind him. But he never does.


**Author's Note: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters! :) Enjoy.**

_One_,_ two, three._

When Dean gets out of the shower or enters the bathroom, the first thing he does is wipe the steam of the mirror. It was become habit, wherever he is- Sam's hospital room, the bunker, various motels. The first thing he always does is wipe the steam or the dirt and grime off of the slick, reflective surface. He kids himself why he does it. He tells himself that he only does it so he can see himself in order to fix his damp hair, to have the mirror a clean surface to look at. He tells himself he likes things clean. But he knows in his heart that it's not why does it, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from himself. He wipes the mirrors clean because he's hoping to see Cas reflected in it.

_Four, five, six._

When he wipes the mirrors, he remembers, even though he tries so hard not to. He remembers even though he tries so hard to suppress the memories.

He remembers when Cas had burst through that warehouse door the first time he'd ever seen his angel.

_"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."_

He remembers wiping the blood off of his favourite coat to look up and see Castiel directly behind him.

_"Dammit, Cas! We've talked about this. Personal space."_

He remembers sitting alone on a bench, watching children playing, and seeing Castiel appeared at his side in a flutter of silent wings.

_"Hey, Cas."_

He remembers strolling down an alleyway, an arm draped around Cas' shoulders.

_"I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time."_

He remembers praying in front of a vending machine on a dark night, begging, pleading, almost, for Cas, for him to appear behind him.

_"Cas, please."_

He remembers that dreaded year, but Cas had been there. Cas had left his family and stayed for Dean, trusting in him blindly.

_"Dean, please."_

He remembered picking up that drenched tan trenchcoat and wrapping it up, holding it close to his chest, and feeling as if Cas was there with him.

_"Cas. You stupid child."_

He remembers holding Cas' hand tight, pulling with all of his strength. He couldn't lose him.

_"Cas! Hold on!"_

He remembers being in Hell, thinking he was never getting out, that he was going to rot in here, that he wasn't worth anything, that his life had been pointless, and then he remembers Cas being there. He remembers Cas saving him, Cas loving him, Cas being there for him.

_"Cas, buddy, I need you."_

He tries not to remember, but with every stream-covered, grime-dotted mirror, he remembers Castiel. He remembers his Angel of the Lord. He tries so hard, because he'd made a promise. When he had been young, he'd promised his dad. He'd promised his dad that he would never fall in love. Everyone he loved died, and all his friends were killed. He had to stay alone. It was safer that way. He couldn't push Sam away; he was already to involved in the family business. He started to feel his promise unraveling when he met Castiel, but he had sworn. He kept it in. He never spoke of his feelings for Cas to anyone. He buttoned his shirt, pulled on his jacket, slipped his keys into the ignition, and kept his lips pressed shut. Love was a weakness, John had taught.

_Seven, eight, nine._

Castiel seemed not to have known that.

_Ten, eleven, twelve._

The mirrors in Sam's hospital room bathroom are wiped clean with a sweep of Dean's jacket sleeve. He looks up still, half-hopeful that maybe Cas will be behind him again and he can laugh lightly, touch Cas' should with a punch, and try and explain 'personal space'. But he can't. Because Castiel isn't there.

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen._

He draws his palm across the steam-coated mirror of the bathroom in the bunker climbing out of the shower, leaving streaks where his fingers touched the glass, he's started to lose hope when he looks up and doesn't see Cas reflected behind him with his passive expression, bright blue eyes, and flop of black hair. Dean Winchester is a practical man, but still he does it. Still he rubs his mirrors, and still he hopes.

_Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen._

He pulls his arm across the mirrors of motels scattered across America because somehow, his hope still dwindling away, he still believes, with a small part of his heart, that Cas could be there. His Castiel, his Angel. But with every glance, with every mirror, his hope begins to melt, to bleed away. With every glance, all he sees in the mirror, newly cleaned, is himself. And every time he is the single solitary figure, he falls quiet. He barely hopes, now. Now, he holds in his feelings. He holds in his tears.

_Nineteen__, twenty..._

It is twenty-one days after Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, has died as a result of Metatron's plot, after Castiel has died at the hands of Gadriel, when it finally hits Dean.

_Dean is one of 6 in the chapel of the hospital Sam's been entombed in, praying, of all things, to Castiel, when he gets the call. "Cas, are you there? Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh – he's hurt pretty bad. And, um... I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here." His head is bowed, a few inches from the wood pew, and his lips are moving, framing the words, coming out in hushed whispers. There no response, and he draws in a breath, about to speak again, when his phone thrums in his pocket, loudly. The other worshippers in the church glance at him in the back row. Dean slips it out, silencing it by answering in a hushed whisper. _

_"Who the hell is this?" There's a brief pause for a weak answer. "Dean." Dean freezes. Cas. Cas. He sounded broken and tired and in awful pain. "Cas. Oh, Cas. Cas, buddy. what the hell is going on? Are you alright?" Cas' breathing hitches, as far as Dean can hear. Someone shuffles in the background, a low chuckle sounding. "Dean, I-" Cas coughed loudly, a hacking sound that tears at Dean's heart. It's a burbling, wet sound, like he's coughing up blood. "M-Metatron tr-tricked me. It wasn't angel trials, D-Dean." His voice stopped so he could cough again. "It was a spell. I wanted you to know that."_

_Dean's heart thumps painfully. His voice rises in worry for Cas. "Cas? What are you talking about, Cas? Are you alright, buddy?" _

_"Dean." Cas stops talking, coughing for a good 10 seconds before there's the sound of someone kicking a body and a grunt from Cas. Dean shot up from his kneeling position, the kneeler thumping upward. "Cas!" He spun, almost sprinting out of the Church. "Dean, Meta-Metatron took my... He took my-" Cas stopped, a scream peeling itself from his throat as Dean heard the thumps of punches landing. A low voice chuckled again, just slightly. "Now, Cassie," the voice said softly. "The boss told you what you were allowed to say, alright? Stick to the script." Dean shouted, his voice deadly, echoing through the empty hall. "Whoever you are, listen here, you son of a bitch! Tell me where you are! And whatever you're doing to Cas, stop it _now, _ or you'll be first on my list! I promise. I promise you that. And Dean Winchester never breaks his promises." The voice laughed quietly. "Oh, Mr. Winchester. I know very well who you are. Certain things have already been but in motion, Dean. And Castiel here, your dear little angel, he isn't going to survive these things." Dean screams into the phone as Cas cries out in pain again. "You son of a bitch! Cas! Cas!"_

_Cas pants, his scream dying in his throat, and tries to speak again. "Dean... Dean... Dean, I-" Castiel whimpers again, the other voice was quiet. "Dean, I-" There was one last terribly long, drawn-out scream along with the thrust of a knife ripping into flesh. Dean screams with it, sinking to the ground of the hallway. "CAS! CASTIEL! CAS!" The second voice grunts on the line, the knife clattering to a stone floor. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Dean screamed, ignoring the pair of people running towards him. "YOU SON OF A BITCH! I LOVED HIM! I'LL FIND YOU AND I WILL KILL YOU. I LOVED HIM!" Dean doesn't have enough self control to stay on the line any longer. He flings the phone with almost impossible force against the wall, the plastic shattering in shards and the battery skittering across the floor. Back against the wall, he slides to the ground. Love is not weakness, he realizes, like John had taught. Love is strength. But he realizes it to late. Once again, he was to late. To late. The one he loves is dead. He hugs his knees like a scared little boy, and he calls his lost love's name._

Dean Winchester realizes that he really is dead when he pulls his sleeve across the mirror and doesn't see Cas for the umpteenth time. Castiel is dead and gone, and he won't ever be coming back. Dean won't ever be able to look at those beautiful blue eyes. He won't ever be able to share a drink with his again. He will never get the chance to feel what it feels to press his rough lips to Castiel's soft, pink ones. He will never, no matter how many times he scrubs his mirrors, see Cas in one again. Cas is gone.

When he realizes this, Dean breaks. He grabs at the mirror glued to the wall, pulling it free and bringing plaster and paint with it. He screams, tears streaking down his cheeks, and smashes it into the ground. All he can think is _Cas Cas Cas I love Cas why didn't I tell him now it's to late Cas is gone Cas Cas Cas_. Loss and depression and fury bubble up in Dean Winchester until suddenly, he can't take it anymore. He screams, Cas' name pulling itself from his lips, and he repeats it and repeats it, screaming it, as he falls to his knees among the shattered pieces of glass. His throat is so raw he barely can scream any more when he finally decides what to. "Cas," he says, lifting himself up, a large piece of glass in his hand. "Cas. Cas. Cas." With a slight noise, he digs the 'blade' into his hand. He pulls it out, dripping with blood, and swabs the fingers of his right hand in it. "Cas," he says as he does it. "Cas. Cas." Where the now-shattered mirror used to be hung, Dean drags his bloody fingers along the wall, forming words. "Cas. Cas."

_BYE, SAMMY, _he writes in all caps, his dark red blood shining on the wall.

_CAS._

His heart is pounding in his chest as he grips the biggest shard, coated in his blood, in his hand. "Cas," he says quietly, to himself. His hand is shaking as he moves it towards his throat, towards the jugular vein. He looks up at the bright red on the walls and thinks for a moment of Sam. "I'm miss you, Sammy," he whispers. "I love you, Sammy." He breaths in again, the piece of glass trembling where it rested on his throat. "Cas," he says softly, pulling his hand back. "Cas. Cas." He takes one more trembling breath before he utters the word one last time and thrusts the glass dagger into his throat. "Cas."

As Dean slumps backwards and his scarlet blood splashes over a few of the glass shards he'd fallen on, he thinks of his lost love. He thinks of the memories. He thinks of what he should have said.

He remembers when Cas had burst through that warehouse door the first time he'd ever seen his angel.

_"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."_

_"I love you, Cas."_

He remembers wiping the blood off of his favourite coat to look up and see Castiel directly behind him.

_"Dammit, Cas! We've talked about this. Personal space."_

_"I'm in love with you, Cas."_

He remembers sitting alone on a bench, watching children playing, and seeing Castiel appeared at his side in a flutter of silent wings.

_"Hey, Cas."_

_"Hey, Cas. I love you."_

He remembers strolling down an alleyway, an arm draped around Cas' shoulders.

_"I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time."_

_"Thank you for that, Cas. I love you."_

He remembers praying in front of a vending machine on a dark night, begging, pleading, almost, for Cas, for him to appear behind him.

_"Cas, please."_

_"Cas, thank you. I love you."_

He remembers that dreaded year, but Cas had been there. Cas had left his family and stayed for Dean, trusting in him blindly.

_"Dean, please."_

_"Cas. Cas. Yes, Cas. I love you."_

He remembers picking up that drenched tan trenchcoat and wrapping it up, holding it close to his chest, and feeling as if Cas was there with him.

_"Cas. You stupid child."_

_"Cas. You stupid child. I love you, you stupid, stupid child."_

He remembers holding Cas' hand tight, pulling with all of his strength. He couldn't lose him.

_"Cas! Hold on!"_

_"Cas! Hold on! I won't let you go! I love you!"_

He remembers being in Hell, thinking he was never getting out, that he was going to rot in here, that he wasn't worth anything, that his life had been pointless, and then he remembers Cas being there. He remembers Cas saving him, Cas loving him, Cas being there for him.

_"Cas, buddy, I need you."_

_"Cas, buddy, I love you."_

Dean's body lays prone on the shards of glass. Shining in them, now, is a figure. The figure happens to be wearing a tan trenchcoat with a flop of black hair and beautiful blue eyes. Castiel's shattered reflection shines in the broken pieces of glass. He bends down, and with the end of his trenchcoat cuff, cleans off the bloody shard of mirror.

**Author's Note: I hoped you enjoyed that. I suppose you understand why Dean was counting, now? Reviews, follows, and favourites are always appreciated, but not expected. Thank you! :)**


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